


The Ravaging Of Rocket Raccoon

by HolmesHarleyWatson



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesHarleyWatson/pseuds/HolmesHarleyWatson
Summary: AU Story. What if Peter and Rocket met much earlier than the events of Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 1?





	The Ravaging Of Rocket Raccoon

**Hey everybody!!!! Can I just say, this whole idea came to me on the fly during an evening when I was stressed out smoking a cigarette in my back yard and looking up at the stars? Just crazy how my mind works. Anyhow, this is an AU FIC, SUPER AU; Main pairing is Rocket and Peter Quill (duh) with some yummy Yondu/Kraglin thrown into the mix every so often. This takes place when Peter is 17 years old and still with Yondu and the Ravagers on the Eclector and YES there will be plenty of fluffy-smutty-smoochily goodness between our favorite boys, hence the reason this is an AU** **J**

89P13. 89th experiment, Classification Procyon, 13th Cell. It used to be 13th kennel, but with his continued modifications; he had quickly outgrown the medium-sized metal crate that they had originally kept him in. They had taken away his food and water bowls after they had operated on his paws and face because he could only be fed intravenously with some kind of gelatinous fluid. He had woken up from major surgery one day to discover he no longer had _paws;_ they had been replaced with _hands._ Before those wounds were healed, they had gone ahead with more testing and were pleased when he had begun to speak a few words; whatever they had asked him to repeat back to them. They would either smile and nod, taking notes on their holopads or he would pronounce something wrong or drop a tool they had passed him that he was unable to grip correctly, and they would frown and shake their heads and decide if they should test him further or operate to improve upon his design. Each time he awoke from sedation alone in his cell they would come for him and perform more tests until they decided that walking on all fours was not conducive to their design either; that’s when they separated and elongated his spine, altered his ribs, shoulders, and shoulder blades. That’s also when the cybernetic implants began to be introduced and they were proud of his progress because he had not died like the other 88 experiments had. He began to learn things besides what they were teaching him; he traded the stuffed toys and tennis balls in his cell for a holopad of his own and he began reading books on it; everything from science fiction novels to engineering manuals. They began leading him into controlled environments and giving him pieces of machinery and telling him what they wanted him to build with those pieces and praised and rewarded him when he succeeding in making what they wanted him to make. There was a lot of trial and error too and he wasn’t always successful. Those were the times that they would send him back to his cell and take away his holopad and deny him food until they tried again the next day and he got it right; hopefully. Because if he still wasn’t successful, that’s when the physical punishment of electroshocks or emersion tanks would begin. 89P13 therefore strove for success and perfection in his work because his survival and existence depended upon it. He liked his holopad and he liked his food. He didn’t like the electroshocks because they were painful and would make the muscles surrounding his cybernetic implants ache for days and the emersion tanks were unspeakable and unimaginable torture; they caused him something they called psychotic episodes and Panic Attacks. 89P13 looked up these unfamiliar medical terms on his holopad and he learned more about diseases and maladies and medicine. Medicine was good. Medicine fixed you. The holopad said that surgery fixed you too and he wondered sometimes late at night what had been wrong with him? What had required so much surgery? Why had he needed to be fixed _so much?_

He was lead into a reinforced steel room one day and they gave him instructions on how to build something and the design was complicated. The schematics were very precise, and it had taken him hours to get everything correct and in the right place. The finished design was impressive and sleek and shiny. A part of 89P13 liked things that were shiny and polished looking, he liked to touch the smooth surfaces that gleamed with his new hands.

“You have done well 89P13, its time to return to your cell,” Dr. Avonoch had come to retrieve him at last, but he was reluctant to leave the shiny object behind.

“What is it called? The thing that I built?” He asked curiously as the Doctor strapped him back onto a gurney for safe transport through the research facility to his cell. The Doctor paused in his work and studied 89P13 as though he was unsure if he should answer him or not, the look in his eyes calculating as he studied his test subject.

“Its called a Rocket,” He finally answered, rolling the gurney along through the brightly lit corridor.

“I like it. It was interesting to build,” 89P13 said as he looked up at the Doctor from the gurney at an odd angle.

“We will have a similar project for you soon.” He replied, stopping the gurney and unlocking the 13th cell, frowning at the test subject in cell 14 and scribbling something onto his holopad.

“What’s the purpose of it? The Rocket, I mean.” 89P13 asked curiously as Dr. Avonoch unstrapped him and lead him into his cell for the night.

“It houses a bomb; an explosive device that’s used to destroy things.” The Doctor explained, slamming the metal door shut and flicking off the light above it. 

“It’s your objective, to destroy things; isn’t it?” 89P13 asked, it was an emotionless question, his tone completely non-accusatory and curious in nature.

“Why would you say that?” Dr. Avonoch asked him with a frown.

“Why else would you have me build it, if you weren’t going to use it?” The experiment reasoned. Dr. Avonoch paused and scribbled something across his holopad and turned away without answering, moving instead to cell 14 and flicking through the colors of lights above the cell until he settled on red; the light code for euthanasia.

89P13 backed away from the door of his cell and hopped up onto his bunk, taking down the holopad he had been given and typing in the word ROCKET into the search tab; laying back on his pillow to read.

_Can’t stay at home, can’t stay at school_

_Old folks say ‘you poor little fool’_

_Down the streets I’m the girl next door_

_I’m the fox you been waiting for_

_Hello Daddy, Hello Mom_

_I’m your ch-ch-ch cherry bomb!_

_Hello world! I’m your wild girl._

_I’m your ch-ch-ch cherry bomb!_

“Peter!!!! Dammit boy, turn that fool noise down! Quill!” Yondu barked, nearly losing his patience with his young Half-Terran charge. What the hell was he going to do with him? They had had an argument again last night about Peter taking a more active role in their jobs and damn Kraglin for siding with the little shit. The music ceased, but Peter didn’t make an appearance; he remained firmly encased in the Milano as a final act of defiance, flipping Yondu the proverbial bird without so much as twitching a muscle in his Mentors direction. Yondu knew the override code and Peter knew that Yondu knew the override code. He was testing him now, and Yondu hated to be tested. The Centaurian sighed irritably and punched the numbers into the pad beside the docking hatch, balancing the plate of food he had brought from the mess hall for Quill precariously because he had been absent from breakfast and Yondu knew that the boy was constantly hungry; a six-foot-four-inch bottomless pit. The interior of the Milano was pitch black save for the lit console where Peter had been playing his music moments before and Yondu could just make out the boys silhouette in the pilots chair, reclined all the way back as though Peter were just staring at the grey ceiling above him.

“Computer, lights!” Yondu groused, kicking the back of the pilots seat and causing the chair to snap back upright, nearly unseating its occupant as it did so. Peter righted himself just in time for his ass to avoid hitting the ground and turned to face the cantankerous Centaurian who shoved the plate of food under his nose without comment or eye contact. Peter hesitated as he eyed the delicious mess of scrambled Yaku eggs covered in cheese and gravy with two overly large biscuits balanced on top. If he took the food automatically, it would mean that Yondu had won the unspoken contest they were having of late; the one where Yondu claimed that Peter needed him more than he needed Peter.

“Quill, yer either eatin’ this or yer wearing it,” Yondu growled, waiting for his charge to decide. Peter sighed as his stomach groaned audibly, betraying his hunger and he reached out and took the plate with a huff.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, digging into the cheesy mess with relish. Yondu shrugged and dug a can of soda out of his pocket and plunked it in front of Peter as well before parking his carcass into the Navigation stations chair beside the Half-Terran.

“Yer a pain in the ass sometimes Pete, ya know that doncha? But when you lock yerself away in here and you refuse food and blare yer mom’s music I git ta worrying about you. Yer a little shit, but I care about ya Peter. You know that, right?” Yondu asked him gruffly. Peter sighed and nodded, still avoiding Yondu’s eyes as he ate and cracked the can of soda open, enjoying the sweet burn of the carbonation as he chugged the first few sips down.

“I been talkin to Kraglin and he says that yer nigh an expert with the blasters he’s given you as well as hand ta hand combat. He says you been trainin’ hard with him and you’ve even bested him a fair few times; he says that you’ve got a lot of tricks up yer sleeve that he never even taught you, and that’s good,” Yondu said, watching as Peter shrugged noncommittally and scarfed down more of his eggs; he could tell Peter was trying to avoid starting up the argument from last night again today.

“Well I got a lead on a job to pick up some tech, just a smooth in and out once we bypass the sensors and cut the breaker into the lab. I want you to shadow Kraglin and Murphy and see how they manage that; then once yer in the Lab just keep yer eyes peeled for any extras that may seem useful. Think you can manage that Son?” Yondu asked, hoping that Kraglin’s observations of Peters natural abilities were accurate.

“Yeah I can handle that; like I said last night, I won’t let you down. I just want a chance to prove myself, that’s all.” Peter replied, earning a rare grin from Yondu.

There was an inkling of an idea floating around in 89P13’s mind and it wasn’t the kind of idea that the Doctors and Scientists would appreciate, but the red light going off above cell 14 that night last week had put things into greater perspective for him; surely it was only a matter of time before they were changing the color of his light too? He had already been alive longer than all of the others and though cell 14 had belonged to a different experimental project completely, who was to say that they weren’t scrapping everything and starting over completely? The plan that he had was very simple and really, he only needed bare essentials to see it through and he would be free. They had made the mistake of giving him the holopad all to himself, they had made the mistake of teaching him to fly different types of ships and vessels, and the last mistake they had made was teaching him about _Rockets and explosives._ He had spent the past week inside of his emersion tank; punishment for asking about their objective, but today they were making him build something again. So today would be his chance to gather the supplies he needed, and hopefully he could gather them all because he needed out before they killed him. He was currently crouched in his cell; his fur still damp from the watery hell he had just been freed from and a sense of overwhelming dread hung over him; just a cramped and squeezing feeling that he couldn’t shake no matter how he tried. Footsteps. Footsteps drawing closer. They were coming for him. 89P13 swallowed thickly and looked up at the light blaring down at him. Was today the day? Would it hurt, this ‘euthanasia’ they whispered about? His tail twitched before swishing anxiously back and forth. The footsteps stopped in front of his door and they paused as the scanner accepted their access code and the door swung open to reveal Dr. Nesenga; the surgeon. 89P13 breathed a sigh of relief; it was just another surgical procedure and not his impending doom on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon 89P13, we’re just going to be working on your legs and finishing up on the cybernetic implants today. You’ll spend the night in the recovery room due to the anesthesia, but you should be up and about tomorrow afternoon with minimal pain and discomfort, ok?” Dr. Nesenga was the only Doctor that actually was nice to him and the only surgeon that actually fully anesthetized him for procedures; for which he was eternally grateful.

“Okay,” He replied, trying to quiet his nerves as he hopped onto the gurney and lay still as she strapped him down, his mind going a million miles a minute when she scanned him to check his vitals.

“Your blood pressure and heart rate are elevated, are you anxious?” Dr. Nesenga asked as she wheeled him along.

“No.” He lied, closing his eyes to avoid further questions in case one of the other Doctors was listening as they passed. Dr. Nesenga fell silent too while she wheeled him into the surgical suite, sensing his unspoken request for silence and granting it. 89P13 kept his eyes closed while she and the nurses prepped him, keeping his body boneless as they removed his clothing, re-shaved the I.V. sites, and strapped a plastic mask over his face. He tried to remain calm as the oxygen in the mask began to smell very wrong and kept reminding himself that it was the anesthesia. He would wake up in a few hours or the next day. He would be able to go through with his plan soon, he just needed to be patient and wait; and then his world went black.

“We’re inbound Captain,” Kraglin called as a planet appeared in the distance and Yondu leaned over his shoulder to peer at the viewscreen.

“Good, the Nebuchadnezzar is prepped for y’all to stealth in with all of her shiny new gadgets. Ye’ve got the schematics of what we’re lookin’ for right?” Yondu asked for what felt like the fifth time that day. Kraglin peered around to make sure that he and his Mate were the only two on the bridge before he spoke a bit more freely than he would if any of the other men were present.

“Listen Yon, I wouldn’t be taking our boy into danger that I didn’t think he could handle. He’s good with weapons and he’s got a good head on his shoulders, I just wish that you’d trust me on this one love, I really wish ya would,” Kraglin said, still keeping his voice low as he swiveled his chair around and touched a hand to Yondu’s cheek. He recognized the glint of worry in the ruby-colored depths as he studied the azure face he knew so well after a decade of love and loyalty. Yondu sighed and planted a quick kiss on Kraglin’s lips before he took the helm and Kraglin left the bridge to take command of the sleeker and smaller Nebuchadnezzar.

“I can’t believe he’s actually _letting_ me go with you guys!” Peter exclaimed, holstering his blasters and slinging his crossbody knapsack across his chest, practically bouncing on his heels as he followed Kraglin; his second Father, onto the smaller black and chrome ship.

“Well to be honest Pete, he’s having kittens on the bridge back there, so I need you to focus and not get overexcited here. Your poor Dad’s practically ready to shit the color nine if you know what I mean,” Kraglin replied as he threw an arm around his shoulders briefly before taking the helm while Murphy took the Nav and Peter hung back to observe as they dropped into open space and activated their stealth technology; making them invisible and undetectable to anyone else’s sensors.

“Shields up, we’re movin’ in steady as she goes. Murphy, I’m hacking the first layer of code here; you come in on the next layer and we’ll alternate until we crack her,” Kraglin said as he brought up the planets sensor array and eased his way through the program with Murphy trailing just seconds behind him, like some kind of complicated waltz they each knew the steps to. Peter watched in fascination as they cut the sensors and the power to the lab nearly simultaneously and began the decent through the atmosphere of Half-world, compensating for atmospheric pressure manually to smooth and quiet the ride. The landing was perfect, and the ship remained invisible up to ten feet as Kraglin lead the small team out of the docking port and onto the grounds of the research facility with Murphy and Peter bringing up the rear of the group. With the power cut to the facility and the back-up generators off-line, they were able to easily gain entry without tripping sensors and alarms. Peter frowned as he looked around the plain white and grey corridor with small rooms interspersing either side; he picked the first two to his left and right and shrugged when he saw that they only contained desks and empty medical beds. Kraglin was leading the group deeper into the facility, going after the commissioned Tech that Yondu’s buyer was after, but Peter really, really wanted to find his own score. He hit the vibro on his comm watch and Kraglin turned towards him silently as Peter signaled that he was taking the left fork in the facility as the others were moving right. Kraglin nodded and motioned for the rest of the team to move on towards their payoff. Peter unholstered a blaster and moved silently down the deserted corridor; it appeared that this part of the facility had less offices and more medical rooms and actual laboratories. He let himself in to the first laboratory and found a holopad that he shoved into his knapsack, followed by three data chips, a small scanner, and a few small explosive devices that had been housed under glass. He let himself out of the room, skipped over the next two, and wandered into what appeared to be storage; helping himself to random bits of tech, and two small prototype guns the likes of which he had never really seen. The rest of the items there were either too bulky to move or looked a little to sketchy or dangerous to shove into his bag, so he moved back into the corridor until some random and rhythmic beeping caught his attention. They had cut the damn power to this place and killed the back up generator, so what the hell could that noise possibly be? Peter shoved his bag behind him so that the weight was balanced on his hip and moved forward cautiously, ready for a fight if he had to have one. The further he moved down the corridor, the louder the beeping became, the damned sound was unnerving him for some reason and at first he couldn’t exactly place why until he shoved open the door, blaster raised, to be met with a prone form on a biobed asleep. The beeping that was setting Peters teeth on edge was the sound of the biobed reading the vitals of the sleeping form laying on it. He edged into the room slowly, swallowing hard as he flashed back to his Mother in the oncology ward wasting away before his eyes as the beeping machine mocked him like some kind of perverse ticking clock that was counting down her final days, her final hours….

He shook his head and snapped out of it, digging a light out of his bag, he clicked it on, seeing that the biobed itself had a back up generator attached to it; a failsafe in case something knocked out the power and the facilities generator. Someone really wanted this person alive. Peter shined the light on the beds occupant and froze as he took in the prone form of a large humanoid-animal hybrid upon it. The person looked like they were a raccoon due to the signature bandit mask and the half of the ringed tail that he could see, but that’s where the similarities to the Terran mammal ended. The prone form was at least four feet tall, muscularly built, and looked intelligent; even in its sleep. Peter snatched the holochart from the end of the biobed and read the basics that were listed there. Subject: 89P13, Sex: Male, Height: 4’ 6”, Weight: 81 pounds. The fuck? Didn’t this dude have a name? Then it hit him; Subject 89P13, as in Experiment 89P13. Peter moved closer and shined the light upon the figure once more, frowning as he noticed the blotches of blood that had soaked through the sheet that was flung across his middle; leaving only his head, lower legs, and the lower half of his tail exposed. Throwing caution to the wind, Peter eased the sheet down and nearly cried out as the implants and wires on his back came into view, as well as some newer, unhealed incisions that had been in the process of mending with the help of some clear bio gel; hence the blotches of blood. Peter swallowed thickly and reached out to smooth a hand between the ears of the smaller male, a strange sensation running through him at the feel of the soft fur beneath his fingertips. That was the precise moment that he had decided that he couldn’t leave him here to be further experimented on and tortured, he had to get him the hell out of there. He winced slightly at the thought of causing this poor guy anymore pain as he hoisted him over his shoulder and grabbed the med kit from the side table, relieved when he saw a fresh pair of pajamas folded there as well and stashing them one handed into his bag. Yondu was literally going to fucking kill him this time and possibly Kraglin too; they had rules about stowaways and even bigger rules about bringing aboard genetically engineered raccoon-people, of that much he was sure. Peter made his way silently back the way he had come, thankfully not running into members of his team either as he bolted out of the facilities doors and back towards the Nebuchadnezzar, the cool night air whipping his bangs from his face as he ran, trying and failing not to jostle the being that he carried. The ship shimmered into existence at 10 feet and he punched the command codes in and through himself up the ramp, legs pumping as he ran through the docking hatch and dodged the command stations on the bridge. He picked one of the unused crew quarters at random and lay the raccoon-man down upon a cot within, careful to lay him back onto his stomach and cover him with the thin blanket at the foot of the cot. Peter prayed to any deity that would listen that he would remain sleeping until they had made it back to the docking bay on the Eclector, he then planned on moving him to the Milano for safe keeping without any of them being the wiser until he figured out what the hell he was going to do. He knew that Kraglin would see that he had returned to the ship already due to the tracker in his comm watch, and he didn’t have long to wait as heard the sound of several pairs of feet pounding up the ramp.

“Well Son, congratulations! Ye’ve managed to survive going off on yer own for the first time. Grab anything good?” Kraglin asked as he powered on the thrusters, getting them airborne.

“You have no idea,” Peter replied, handing over his loaded knapsack with a faltering smile.


End file.
